Turkish Falling Down
by The Flesh of JRB
Summary: Months before the events of the game, the Turks and others suffer the chaos of The Slums and Shinra's rule. Turko Che Cadre. Chapter 4 added! Scratch The Night. Sorry for the delay.Reviews most welcome.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Morning Routine

Dusting glasses had to be done in just the right way. If it was not, the dust would smear onto the glass, and that would require it to be washed again. This was something that Tifa had learned from her father, and he had learned it from his mother several years prior. The later two had since passed the world of life into the fine spectrum of dust, which at the moment covered Tifa's drinking glasses. If they were watching over her now, she did not know it. Her own beliefs regarding an afterlife had been nipped at over several years of thinking. Years that she spent just living. The Slums did little to help with her melancholy stupor. If anything, they had taught her the fine art of lying to people who were quite often lying themselves. She longed for some happy moment from her youth to return to her. But then the past held so many horrible things to remember.

With careful precision she wiped the dust away from the glass to produce the faintest squeak. That was life in Sector 7, Tifa thought, it was a squeak made from dirt that was on something pretty, but still empty. Shinra didn't care about the people living under its malignant pillars, rising to the sky like the shameful legs of a dirty god, not noticing the lice living off of the blood it produced. The Mako. Overpriced, and not working most of the time, the Mako kept Midgar glowing at night. She hated it. It did not make sense for a person to hate something as abstract as a mysterious energy which was somehow sucked up from the center of the earth, except that it came from Shinra Inc. That fact alone made her want to dash Mako's brains out with her boot heel.

"Miss Tifa," she heard the soft always eager sounding voice, "Are you alright?"

Jesse was someone who cared about everyone, and everyone did not often care about her caring. However, Tifa felt that she added something pleasant to the neighborhood, and that made Jesse indispensable. "Yes Jesse?" She must have looked angry or something. The dust on the glass was red. No. It wasn't dust. "Damnit," Tifa cursed herself and the glass, while throwing it into the trashcan. She had dusted too hard again. They had lost several glasses already to this.

"Are you ok?" asked Jesse, with the first-aid kit in line of sight, and the proper bandage already applied in her very considerate mind. Tifa nodded. This was her fault. She was supposed to be the older and wiser of the two. As it was, this bright, cheerful, and naive girl was the better of her.

"I'll be fine, Jesse. Why don't you bring up some of the other glasses from downstairs?" Anything to get the cheerful girl away for just awhile, would allow Tifa to bring her moment of reflecting hatred to its climax.

"Oh those… well…uh…the guys were…uh…Mr. Barret, he wanted to teach them a lesson, and well… they got smashed."

"Smashed?" Just like Barret. The man had all the charisma in the world when he needed it, and all the grace of a crowbar scraping someone's teeth. "Alright. I'll give the shop a call. They might still have some in their overstock. If they got them, could you pick them up for us?" Say 'yes' Tifa urged with her mind.

"Sure I will," the girl chipped, and went about the normal duties of cleaning the dust off of everything. She would also tend to the appliances, and any other gadgets they had there. Tifa could tell that she was eager to hear the order to go to the store. Eager to help someone. Anyone.

"I'm sorry, Jesse." But the girl did not hear, for Tifa, when she wanted to, could speak softly as well.

X

Though he never admitted it to anyone, because it would make him look weak, Reno had an acute allergy to dust. He could not allow such a flaw to weaken him, so he took pills. The problem was that the pills could make him hazy. To counterbalance that he took a weak dosage of the pills followed by a ration of uppers. The result was an allergy that was invisible to everyone but him, and a great deal of tension, which he kept in line with a slight depressant to mellow him out. Reno had dug himself a hole, and he was not the only one who knew about it. Rude had figured it out after awhile. It was to be expected, Reno assured himself. He worked with Rude all the time, and the silent but effective Turk was very much aware of everything.

Eggs, bacon, hash browns. For him breakfast was a matter of well-ordered combinations that he had memorized before hand. Reno preferred the standard, with a side of hot cakes covered in syrup and powdered sugar. Coffee was a must. Rude ate a pool of hot sauce with an island of corned beef hash and eggs floating in the center like a developing continental mass. In the slums Rude was a fan of anything made with meat and peppers charred by dirty oil. The creation he feasted on in the diner where they were eating was washed down by a mountainous glass of orange juice. Real juice was a privilege enjoyed by the rich, and the employees of Shinra Inc. They got together for breakfast on Fridays, because the end of the week was often uneventful.

Tseng, ever their calm leader, was the possessor of company credit card without limits. To be respectful to Tseng was to ensure a nice meal on the company ticket. It was one of the many things that kept Tseng at the top. Reno stole glances at his immediate supervisor between the coffee, the hot cakes, and his combo. Tseng always settled for colorful plate of fruit, and a small bar of grain. A small glass of kiwi juice and a cup of steaming green tea were satellites to this rainbow-splattered circle. He seemed calm as always. Reno suspected that the man was in a constant state of meditation. But that was probably reading too much into it.

It was good to be Turk, and Reno knew that. They had come a long way with Shinra; originally they had been a common crime syndicate several years ago. A few of the more senior members still had stories to tell. One was of an unnamed Turk who supposedly got too close to a girl who was spoken for by one of the Shinra elites. This Turk had been one of the leaders for a long time, and was considered to be their most effective silencer. It did not matter though, he broke the rules, and he got what he had coming to him. Reno often wondered if this story was true, or was a fairy tale designed to keep them away from the ladies in the Shinra office.

"What's bothering you, Reno?"

He looked up to see the face of Frost, one of the senior Turk members who had come out of early retirement because the money was good with recent terrorist troubles in the city. "Nothing. Just fine. How about you?" There could be no show of weakness.

Frost leaned back into the booth. He was a tall man with a very dark complexion: almost coal-black, and a thick Afro with just a tinge of white at his temples. A bushy mustache had that same degree of wisdom, and this connected to the rest of his hair to form what Reno thought they called muttonchops. "Nothing wrong over here, Reno. You just look a little…antsy."

Reno stared at Frost's breakfast: a half-eaten muffin and a large coffee with two creams, and two sugars. The older man was calm, but ready. He had seen things that Reno has only dreamt about. Years ago, he had been part of a group of Turks who took a young Sephiroth out for some fun in a disputed town. Frost had been there when Sephiroth had first become a legend in the ranks of Soldier. The Turks and Soldier were often closely associated, but this was kept out of the news of course. People were supposed to be proud of Soldier, they were supposed to fear and loathe the Turks.

"He is just fine, Frost." Reno looked back at Tseng who had answered for him. "He is still young, and he has a young man's energy."

Frost laughed. "I meant nothing by it. I just like to give these rookies some Hell."

"I'm no rookie, Frost."

"That's right," Rude spoke finally. "I follow Reno. After Tseng of course."

"Well that's just like you, Rude. You got the talent and the balls, but you always let a fast talker be your master."

"There is no master." This was from Waingro, the other senior member. He had been forced out of the organization for some…problems. The kind of problems that he now was required to take medication for. "I don't need any master. Must be somethin' with the new wave of Turks workin' for the company." The older Turk wore his dirty stringed hair long, which was a stark contrast to the hairline which receded to the last quarter of his head. He never shaved; he merely trimmed his ratty facial hair when it started getting in the way of his drinking. His breakfast consisted of a large cup of coffee that he let his pills dissolve into. When he walked away to the bathroom, which was frequent, he stole shots of bourbon from an old flask he kept in his coat.

Reno had no love for Waingro. The older Turk was an embarrassment to the group at large. Half of his career had been spent in prison cells and drunk tanks, and he was not ashamed in the slightest. When Reno wondered why they have brought Waingro out of forced retirement, he was reminded of the fact that the man did not have the slightest problem with killing anyone. Going back to his stint as a Shinra trooper, Waingro had made death into his past time. He killed two fellow soldiers for looking at him in the shower. Actually, the other one was killed mercifully by Tseng on orders from Heideggar. The man would have taken several days to die, if he had been lucky.

"So…uh…what are we doing today?" asked Ross, the newest member of the group.

"Are you makin light of me, boy?" Demanded Waingro, instantly hating the younger green horn of a Turk.

"NN No…no sir." He was quick to plead. Ross was supposed to have been a paper-pusher in the head office. A degree paid for by the corporation had supposedly guaranteed him a top place in Research and Development. But, Scarlet had not been impressed with him personally, and demanded that he get some hands-on experience with weapons and tactics from people who would know. So after a week of insufficient training, Ross had been sent to Tseng to learn how to be a "man" as Scarlet put it. Tseng could not disagree with her for she had the ear of Rufus, and Rufus had the ear of the president who would either order Heidegger to do it himself or have Tseng killed and someone else do it.

"You really shouldn't be here, Ross." Frost was being as civil as he could, but honest. "You're not made for this stuff."

"We need to keep our exchanges professional," said Tseng, putting an end to whatever he thought was building up between the two sides of the table, "Do not forget that we all work for the same people. We are all the same people. You may like that, or perhaps you do not, but it does not matter. If you want to remain and make more money than you ever could out there in the slums, you will control yourselves. Now, I would like to finish my breakfast in relative peace. We are expected in precisely an hour. Let us not waste these quiet moments."

No one said a word following Tseng's speech. They ate their meals in silence, for the most part not looking at each other. Reno ordered more coffee, and decided on a second order of hotcakes. The waitress was quick to bring Reno his second helping complete with an extra dusting of powdered sugar on top of his regular compliment. On her way to the table, she made a stop at the register to drop off check and credit card. She noticed that the receipt printer looked a different color than usual. Touching it she realized that no one had dusted the machine in weeks, and that dust altered the hue of her own hand. Unable to put the tray down, she ignored it and kept moving.

For the most part the Turks were finished with their breakfast. Tseng was finishing his tea, and already had his credit card out to cover everyone. This was just another day on the job.


	2. Work

Chapter 2: Work

Reno did his best not to lose it, and go on a massive spree of random beat-downs and sharp jabs with the cattle prod. It was one of the more satisfying ways of hurting someone. When he did it, Reno could feel the jolt as it hit the target. Scarlet had designed it that way. That woman was something else. If he didn't know better, he'd say that she was certifiably insane, but you didn't say stuff like that about the top people over at Shinra HQ; people who had decided that he had to come to one of their meetings rather than join the other Turks on whatever they were doing that day. Scarlet could do stuff like that.

She was there in the same room with the same intolerable people, but she had reserves of patience that Reno couldn't fathom. It must've been the beautiful dress. No matter who was she was dealing with or what she was doing, Scarlet always aimed to be the best looking person in the room. Though, he had to admit, when she was in the room with President Shinra, Heidegger, or Palmer, she really had no competition. That was probably her goal, and why there were so few female higher-ups in Shinra.

"I think you'll find us more than willing to do business, Mr. Lentz," said President Shinra, "We only need to guarantee our own investment."

Lentz was the polar opposite of President Shinra. He was very trim with a healthy coloring due to his frequent trips to Wutai and his indulgence in their active and disciplined lifestyle. Little wonder why Shinra and Wutai had clashed so often in the past. Those conflicts were why the president of Shinra was willing to seek deals with Wutai through an intermediary. Lentz wasn't from Wutai, which was why he'd been allowed into Shinra HQ. Even the Turks were weary of the traditional-minded martial artists. Devotion to such strict beliefs could be a dangerous motivator. They didn't need some ninja from Wutai willing to die just so Shinra wouldn't have a president.

"My associates are concerned about the depreciation of your facilities." Lentz spoke with a measured tone that was calm, but projected perfectly.

This brought out a little bit of Scarlet's temper. "Are you saying that Wutai can make better things than we can?"

"Not at all," said Lentz, "But we've all seen the effects of a reactor explosion."

"Minor incidents," said the president, "There is no need to worry."

"Perhaps, but perhaps they are minor only because they were smaller reactors. A larger facility, like the ones is Midgar, could combine strength and toss out devastation everywhere."

"You're worried about the terrorists," sneered Palmer, "They're nothing but ants to be burned."

"Word is: they burned you."

Palmer became even redder in the face than his chubbiness already exuded. He didn't speak though. He waited for the president to do so. Palmer didn't have the confidence, or talent-based credibility that Scarlet did. Few people at Shinra did.

"There have been some unpleasantries, but I can assure you that Shinra Incorporated is in control of the situation. What I would like to know is will Wutai lend support to a group of terrorists, or will they finally choose to be part of the modern world?"

This was what Reno was waiting for. One right look from the president, and Lentz would have to be put down. As much as Tseng's protocol for restraint held Reno back, he wanted some action. He didn't know why he'd been the one summoned to this little meeting. There wasn't even any food. Tseng used to handle all of the posh jobs, and after him it had been Rude. Scarlet and Rude had some big falling out though, so it came down to him. The other guys: new and formerly retired were not trusted as much. And, given the relationship between the former head of the Turks and the former leader of AVALANCHE, Shinra wanted to hold onto those employees that would have no such conflicts of interest. That was the price of job security, he thought.

Lentz took his time, and even learned back a little in his chair. "Wutai is willing to work with Shinra if they are appropriately compensated. They have no relationship with The Avalanche in the past, present, and they don't see one in the future."

The room as a whole seemed to sigh with relief, except for Reno, who was very disappointed with the fortunate turn of events. Business was often so damned boring. The president stood to shake Lentz's hand, and Lentz took the meaty hand in his own and responded kindly—just another business transaction over at Shinra HQ. Reno desperately wanted to go to the gym, and burn his muscles into a mushy fury. If he didn't do something, his high would fizzle into a low, and he would be useless for several hours. Worse: Tseng would hear about it.

"Reno," the president said, his face betraying a slight annoyance with the Turk as though Reno wasn't paying attention or something, "Please escort Mr. Lentz to the station."

"Yes, sir." Reno's voice was soft, but projected well enough to be quite audible. There was nothing to detect in the tone. As a Turk, Reno had to be above the usual foibles of a hired goon. They were not just thugs—they were Turks. They were what Tseng had made them to be.

XXX

After a good three hours of working out, she reached the point when she had to break. Her training had taught her to set pace limits. If it was necessary she could go well beyond those restrictions, but she had been gilled repeatedly not to waste. She'd promised herself that she would out last Shinra. Making peace with the violence of her life, and the harsh circumstances in which she lived. Of course, she still found herself crying sometimes, and wondering why she didn't just leave or die, but Tifa had come to a point where life demanded commitment. Revenge required that she be alive. There would be no gloating if she were dead.

The sweat poured off of her in little flooding rivers. For a moment she forgot where her towel was, and wiped futilely with her fingers. Her small sports shirt was plastered to her body. She already relished in the thought of peeling it off like a molted skin, and showering. Every time she did it, bathing in the sweet release of exhaustion, she felt reborn. Her lessons with Zangan had taught her about the spiritual significance of using one's body. Tifa had since lost a great deal of the patient optimism of those teachings, but she still maintained most of its physical principles. Running a bar had also imbued her with an acquired knowledge of brawls and dirty fighting techniques. Zangan hadn't taught her those, but he made it clear that she would learn them. "The larger portion of your true education," he said, "Will be entirely up to your ability to perceive and remember."

Tifa found the towel, and began to soak up the excess of sweat. She held it over her head for a moment to get it out of her eyebrows and the top of her head, where the sweat tended to flow through her hair like jungle rivers.

Zangan had told her that she had doomed herself through no fault of her own. Terrible things had happened to her, and while she found some coping and peace in the art of Zangan-Ryu, it was this sense of being wronged that drove her. Zangan had seen others destroy themselves over such harmful passions. He disapproved, but he'd continued to teach her anyway. She never asked why because she'd been too afraid that she would fail some silent test he was giving her. She couldn't shake the notion that he'd taken her from the wreck of Nibelheim because he had some further plans for her. For why would he have invested so much of his energy in healing to keep her alive, and then set her up with money and long term medical care in Midgar?

She looked around the lower quarters of the bar. She was supposed to exercise more outside. While anyone could be watching, it didn't matter as long as she was out there and unafraid. Overcoming all fear was the goal of Zangan-Ryu. Yet, she knew why she'd gone down below when all the others were out on errands. In some of her routines she grew violent. Sometimes bestial. She might bite or claw at invisible enemies. One time, Marlene had come down to find her, and witnessed the gruesome spectacle. Marlene had been so frightened that Tifa spent several moments trying to convince the little girl that she hadn't gone insane. Marlene had pointed to the Tifa's face, and Tifa wiped it with her gloved had to come back with foaming drool. She'd horrified even herself. All because of Shinra.

"Why do you have to be like that?" Marlene asked her. "You're not mean, Tifa."

She had no answer for Marlene. Instead, she had smiled, and offered to make the girl something to eat. Since then she'd taken greater care to lock the elevator and other doors leading down. It was a risk, for she and Barrett had planned to use those as emergency entrances to that wonderful hiding place. Only people on the bar staff, who were coincidently members of AVALANCHE, knew about it. There were a number of small lockable nooks that were there for different members if they were staying over, which was frequent. Barrett spoke of raising a larger force to hit more targets at once. Tifa's own instincts said their kind of group was big as it was. They had no official backing like the Turks or other such organizations. There was little reasoning with Barrett though. His commitment to destroying Shinra was sometimes greater than her own. Only one thing marked the difference: Marlene.

His devotion to the little girl took the edge off of his hatred. He could storm into a Shinra Military Police Post, and kill a dozen security guards, but he would always come home to hug that little girl, and listen intently as she told him the significant moments in her day.

Tifa envied him for that. She didn't have to. Marlene had grown to be a kind of daughter to everyone—including Tifa, but it wasn't the same. There was something wrong with Tifa, and even little Marlene knew it. The real question that Tifa asked in her quiet moments, like when she cooled down after a workout, was "how long?". How long until she decided to commit herself completely? When would she strap on a bomb, and give the president of Shinra a kiss goodbye? Sephiroth was dead supposedly, no matter how much she wanted to kill him. But, Sephiroth had come from Shinra. Everything came from Shinra.

The wondering threatened to burn her brain out of its skull. She went and unlocked all of the hatches, and then grabbed some new clothes and another towel. The time had come for her once again to be reborn. If she didn't…well, the image of the final kiss of President Donovan Shinra was so inviting, considering the big surprise she would have for him.

XXX

Reno met up with Rude at the _Tree Trees Oasis_, a desert-themed bar frequented by Shinra employees and other patrons with money, but also a taste for the unusual in Midgar. The establishment was actually inside one of the main Shinra plazas surrounding Reactor Four. He remembered going there with Tseng several times when they first brought him in. It was part of Tseng's opening routine where he tried to pin-down where a new hire was in their life. After the basic introductions when Tseng decided he had potential, Reno had first met Rude.

He'd been a little put-off by the bald man's silence, but over time, and several cups of coffee, things had lightened up. The _Three Trees_ also had hookahs, which Reno had fallen for immediately.

He found Rude sitting in a padded chair by a window. The bald Turk had a small cup of espresso he was nursing, along with a tray of fruit breads, nuts, and cookies. Being a Turk meant free food at Shinra franchised venues, and their superiors encouraged them to exploit it. The higher-ups at Shinra wanted people, especially Shinra employees, to know that the Turks were around.

Reno found a chair across from a small table from Rude, and sat down. With his fingers he signaled the waiter for a triple espresso and a full hookah bottle. The waiter would know what he liked, which was a rum-soaked blend of tobacco, and if he didn't, then he would learn painfully.

Rude took out a small PDA, and scrolled through it with a tiny stylus. Reno wondered if he'd missed some new report or something.

"So, tell me," Reno said," What did I miss during my very important escort mission?"

"Nothing much: new rumors about AVALANCHE. Some possible connection to people in the prison beneath The Golden Saucer."

"You mean?"

Rude nodded.

No one liked to talk about Corel Prison. Turks knew fear better than most people. There was a chain of command, and they respected it. The old school ways of the original enterprise were little more than a myth. Shinra owned them.

"I really wanted Lentz to turn out to be foolish, and make a threat or something. My day would've been so much better."

It was actually quite louder than normal inside the _Tree Trees_. Several junior executives were scrambling to get drink, fumbling with their hookahs, and just jabbering on to each other about how stressed their day was working in an office. Reno could barely hear the computer-generated eastern guitar music or saxophone wails coming out of the speakers built into ivy-covered statues of ancient gods and faux antique vases. He could feel the cattle-prod secured away in his jacket. The head office probably wouldn't mind him teaching a lesson in manners to the young office trash. But, he could already imagine Tseng's reaction to such unnecessary drama.

"Tseng" said Rude, finishing his tiny drink, "Is looking at another rehire."

"Is he? I thought we had enough guys for the moment. Ross is still green anyway. We need to get his cherry popped soon."

Some of the more bashful executives looked over at him. Normally, Reno would've ignored it, but he felt unfulfilled with the day, so he stared back at them with his coldest smile. That was enough for most people to look away. The others took one look at the ever-stoic Rude, and cowered in fear. Rude never took the glasses off in public, and his expression never rose above its calm, almost dead nothingness that could've been chiseled onto the most ancient of marble.

"How do we what a guy's going to be like until he has to tip the shoe shiner to scrub the blood off his shoes?"

"I agree, and so would Frost. Tseng believes it too, but Tseng is also accountable to the higher-ups. We're all employees."

"I sometimes forget, so who's the other comeback kid?"

"A woman."

"Are you shitting me? A woman? This has got to be Scarlet's doing again."

"Probably."

"How many of these appointees do we need?"

Rude shrugged, and continued reading his PDA. The past fighting between the Turks at the first incarnation of AVALANCHE had been disastrous for both sides. While the original AVALANCHE had been obliterated, the Turks still managed to keep some of their people, and Tseng had made the previous policies even stricter to guarantee the quality of Turks in the organization. Still, they had to rebuild their numbers as a matter of practicality.

The waiter finally arrived with Reno's drink. He drank it immediately, and placed an order for another plus a bottle of water. His hookah arrived next, and Reno wasted no time in taking a long drag from the mouthpiece of the pipe. He puffed smoke out of his nose and mouth, and it formed a little swirling cloud between him and Rude.

"Where are they at?"

"The backroom as usual."

The backroom was where the interviews began. They later gravitated to the main café area.

"Well?"

"What?" Rude acted as though he didn't know what Reno was asking.

"What does she look like?"

"Blonde. Kind of thin."

He chewed on the mouthpiece on the pipe while he spoke: "It's Elena, isn't it? I can't believe this. And she wants to be a Turk again?"

"You don't make it this far without some serious consideration."

"What's this world coming to?"

"I don't know."

"When I go home tonight, I'm going to need some sleeping pills to choke it all down."


	3. Coffee, Sex, and Ninjas

Chapter 3: Coffee, Sex, and Ninjas.

After Reno had pulled several drags of rum-flavored smoke from the hookah, he was very close to making a decision about going home. More caffeine and more nicotine were the bread and butter of his day. But, there was only so long he could go before facing another morning where he might not wake up. There were enough of those. Times when he was sure he'd wake up to find cats barking, Rude giggling like a school girl, and water falling into the sky.

He ate several nuts off of Rude's plate. The bald Turk offered no objection. No surprise there. He was silently generous.

A young professional at the bar fell to the floor in a fit of coughing. No one seemed to mind. Brown blossomed across the yuppie's white dress-shirt like water rising up through quicksand. His chocolate latte had gotten the better of him. _Who drinks those at night_, thought Reno, who took a sip of his own coffee.

Eventually, the bartender signaled one of the coffee baristas, a young woman with bobbed hair and no makeup. Her black vest and sleeve-garters made her look like a blackjack dealer. She came out from behind the bar, and grabbed the yuppie by his feet. She dragged him away while he was still coughing. Reno presumed it was either to help him or to get him to help. He hated to think that she would be rifling through his wallet and stealing his silk socks, but this was Midgar.

He watched the slow progression of the barista and her cargo. It was the most interesting thing that he'd seen that day, until he turned to see Tseng standing next to the table. Tseng was eating Rude's cookies. Reno almost had his own coughing-fit at the end of the hookah.

"Force out the smoke, and breathe," said Tseng, "It's easy. You've done it for years."

A cookie crumb fell from Tseng's mouth and landed on the table in front of Reno. He stared at it as though he'd witnessed a live birth in front of him. _Crumbs. Crumbs falling from Tseng's mouth._

"This place has a wonderful atmosphere. That's why I brought our organization here. Don't you agree?"

"I guess."

"Good. Eventually you'll be like Rude here. He's silent because he knows."

"Knows what?"

"Precisely." Tseng then devoured a piece of fruit bread. He ordered a cup of tea, which was brought to him immediately. Amidst the structured hierarchy of _The_ _Three Trees Oasis_ there were regular patrons, Shinra salary men, the Turks, and then Tseng.

He quickly drank his tea. He did not pound it or noisily slurp it. The tea just flowed into him. "I know that you are somewhat unsatisfied with your current assignments," he said, "While I do apologize, I remind you that ours is not a pleasant job. It's dangerous, dirtier, and frequently more disturbing than most jobs."

"Look I wasn't going to whine or anything. I just needed to know—"

"Yes, I know. Would you like to assist me in something important?"

Tseng brushed back a stand of his hair that had strangely come loose. It was then that Reno noticed the splatter of blood on the well-manicured hand.

"Doing what?"

"Official Turk business. Follow me to the backroom, won't you?"

Reno looked to Rude for some kind of support. All he got was the cold stare of the black sunglasses. He wondered how many people had died with those dark rims as their last sight. Would that vision come for him one day? Or would it be Tseng? Tseng would no doubt be very polite about it.

"Sure. Anything for the Turks. You don't have to ask."

"That's what I like to hear."

He followed Tseng to the backroom. There was no point in looking back at Rude. There would be no change. No offering of help. Rude was the epitome of a Turk.

The door was a beautiful carved-chestnut colonial. However, when Tseng opened it, a cautious person would note that it was a façade to a steel door with an air-tight rubber lining. Shinra paid for all of the bar's special renovations. They trusted Tseng after all. Who didn't?

Reno barely heard the door close behind him. This wasn't just due to the fact that the door was so expertly installed as to only make the noise of a dove's feather falling to a white marble floor. No, it was because of the sight screaming into Reno's eyes.

He beheld beautiful pale and taut flesh. That of a woman, who despite her personality, was still numbingly attractive. Her skin, however beautiful, wasn't boring. It was a canvas for elaborate ink work. This was something new to his eyes. Reno had seen every inch of that pale skin before. Now it looked like some exotic culture had left its history on it.

It was of course done in a way so as to be invisible when she wore the dark Turk suit. They had to have standards. The largest piece that Reno could discern was a large sitting Buddha rising from her belly with his bald head between the bottoms of her breasts. He didn't say anything, but Reno swore that the Buddha's face bore a striking resemblance to Tseng. _It is all about you, isn't it?_

Once his eyes had given up on their translation of the various patterns, symbols, and fragments of foreign languages, Reno noticed the circumstances of her being there. She was bound and gagged. Blood seeped from small cuts, and bruises were growing like wheat in a barren valley. A trail of blood flowed into the Buddha's mouth and down his chin.

"As you can see," said Tseng, "I'm not quick to accept all rehires. Those who have disappointed us in the past have to prove themselves again."

Tseng pulled a wooden chair forward, and ordered Reno to put her on it. Reno did so without question.

"Remove the gag."

It was soaked in blood. When he removed it, Elena spat out a tooth.

"Nice to see you again, Reno. I was hoping you'd still be here."

"Silence," from Tseng, "If you disappoint us during this, Reno will be the last man you see."

She nodded.

Reno had a strange feeling emanating from his gut that drifted over his head like a warm blanket. It was so like those days when he sat in his apartment letting pain pills kiss his wounds away.

"What are you?" Tseng asked Elena.

"Trash."

"Whose trash?"

"Yours."

"And?"

"His." She smiled at Reno.

Tseng turned away from Elena, and addressed him as though she were not there. "Don't worry about her fragile nature. I haven't."

"What do you want me to do?" It was a dumb question to ask. He already knew the answer. The feeling in his head made him dizzy. He wanted to lie down and sleep. An odd feeling for Reno.

"As I said, don't worry. She's agreed to this. I'm even doing her the favor of having you do it."

Elena blushed, but said nothing.

"Tseng…I…"

"Do it anyway you please, but do it. I'll be in the bar." Tseng walked to the door, and opened it. Before he closed it behind him he said: "From now on you'll have some better work. I always take care of the people who work for me."

Then Tseng was gone.

Reno looked at Elena, and she looked at him. He didn't say anything. He couldn't find anything to say. So she did. "Do they still have those great chocolate lattes here?"

XXX

The next day Reno found himself with a new job. Tseng was many things, but a liar was not one of them. The "crisis" with the original AVALANCHE had solidified his position. He sent Reno to work with the older Turk Frost.

"The thing about retirement that I couldn't stand was the boredom. You probably haven't faced such a thing, have you?"

His throat had been bothering him, so he stopped smoking for the day. There was still plenty of coffee. Always plenty of coffee when you were a Turk. Reno had no choice but to admit that Frost had good taste. Usually he would be content to just chug any large cup of bean-brew provided that it had caffeine. When Frost had come back to the car with the drinks Reno expected nothing. It was all so much routine. When he took the first sip he learned a great deal. Frost educated him. He told Reno that such a brew had levels and a plethora of flavors. Because of this, Reno had tolerated the older man's want to talk. It was much different than working with Rude.

Frost kept talking. "At first it was great. Like a long vacation. And there's no denying that you always want a vacation. I remember years ago, before Shinra got their full grip, we didn't get vacations. The Wutai problem and every other little start-up knew they could beat us. But of course they didn't."

Reno didn't mind the banter. Time kept passing. The people they were watching wouldn't be going anywhere soon. It was the kind of job that people like Ross would love. Too bad that Ross got stuck with Rude.

"When do you think you'll retire?"

He wanted to say "never". That he longed for the quick and untimely death Tseng promised him upon joining. "When I start seeing the punched coming. Then I'll probably have to hang it up."

Frost was silent for a long time. Reno thought nothing of it.

"You sure you want to be in this line of work?"

"Were you sure about coming back?"

"That's fair."

Reno made visual contact with one of their targets. "He's early."

"Better than six hours from now."

The man they approached was just another low-level salary man of Shinra, and possibly a frequenter of _The Three Trees_. His suit was cheap and had been washed too many times. Reno had seen it all too often. His own suits were frequently damaged and dirtied. Early on Reno had resorted to re-dying his suits every few months. His skin kept getting stained, but it worked. Finally Tseng had seen his stained pale flesh and asked about it. Once it was known Tseng wasn't going to let it happen again. Reno simply had to ask for more suits. They were tax-deductible after all. The man Frost and him were after wasn't as fortunate as that.

But he was paranoid enough to notice the two Turks coming up to him. He didn't run. Anyone who'd worked for the company long enough knew that running was pointless. The company knew where you worked, where you lived, where you hung out, and everything about your friends who were more than likely fellow employees. Standard employee guidelines warned potential employees that company investigators mistakenly called "Turks" were to be cooperated with fully.

Their target in the rundown suit, Harris, knew the situation, and stopped in his tracks.

_Good boy. You don't want problems._

"Mr. Leonard Harris?"

"Yes, what do you want?"

"That's not the kind of customer-service a Shinra employee should be offering," said Frost, "You're not a bitter employee are you?"

"Of course not. I…It's just…"

"I understand," said Reno, "I know all about it."

"You do?" There was a nervous twitch in Harris' eyes.

"Yes. I see it all the time. You work for the company day in and day out. Not only do you do your job, you do it very well. Do they reward you for it? Not hardly, but it's a job. It beats living in the slums, am I right?"

"I guess so."

"He guesses so. I think maybe you're giving this man too much credit."

"I don't think so. He wants to do the right thing, don't you Mr. Harris?"

"What is this even about?"

"Reactor Number Two."

Reno couldn't detect any decisive reaction from Harris. This wasn't unexpected. Innocence was a possibility, but then again a well-trained infiltrator could go so far as to believe in his own cover story until his handlers told him otherwise. Similar things had been done during the Wutai incident.

"Would you like to go somewhere to talk about it?"

"I'd prefer to stay out here in the open."

It was a Shinra-dominated street so it shouldn't have been an issue. Somewhere in his brain Reno could already hear Tseng chastising him for such foolish assumptions. But after what he'd been through the night before with Tseng and Elena, Reno was as full of doubts as ever.

"Suit yourself. Would you like a cigarette? How about a cup of coffee? My friend here knows where the good coffee is. Believe me."

"No, thank…oh God!"

Reno turned to see a man wearing a large ratty blanket. He could only see his eyes. _Just another bum_, he thought, _though a brave one to be so close to Shinra HQ. _ Many homeless people had a habit of disappearing when they got too close. The Turks were not involved, and Reno suspected Hojo of being the most likely suspect. He never asked though. You weren't supposed to ask.

Reno maintained the routine. "Look, hobo, beat it outta here. This isn't a safe place for you."

The bum turned away, and that should've been the end of it. However, a three foot wide shuriken broke past Reno and Frost and lanced into Harris before returning to the bum.

Reno went for his pistol, and only then realized that the giant ninja star had glanced his right arm. Moving it opened up the wound, and his arm glazed itself with blood.

During this, Frost pulled his own gun, a chromed revolver, and had his sights on the ninja when a flurry of bamboo needles sunk into his hand. The chrome gun fell onto the dirty street.

A second ninja they hadn't seen drew a short sword, and charged forward at Frost. By then Reno had finally pulled his gun and fired at this new threat. His aim was wide and the bullet only grazed the ninja who didn't stop his charge. Reno fired again. This time the ninja deflected the bullet with his sword. He aimed again. Not thinking about the giant shuriken that was probably on its way to slicing off his arm. But for all of that dire focus he didn't get to fire. A dark blur with a graying head of hair crashed into the assassin. Together they careened onto the street and continued until they hit the base of a statue bearing the likeness of Rufus Shinra.

The other ninja dodged forward. Leaping from side to side. Reno fired, but only grazed him.

From the lobby of the office building came two armed guards who opened fire with their rifles. At least one high-powered round struck the ninja as a spray of blood and tissue erupted from the dirty blanket. The ninja retaliated, and sent the large shuriken into the chest of one of the guards killing him instantly. Enraged, the other guard charged forward. The retractable bayonet coming out of his rifle like fang. It was one of the bravest things that Reno would ever see.

The two men met and fell into a grapple over the gun. While the ninja had training on his side, the Shinra guard was powered by hatred. Reno recalled that Tseng frequently spoke of carrying emotions into battle. Which was odd considering how Tseng was almost as unemotional as Rude.

Reno saw the opportunity. The person known as "Reno" couldn't be allowed to interfere. This had to be the work of the Turk. The guard was too close to the ninja—they were actually head to head—or rather masked ninja to helmeted guard. Even the most intense of Shinra's troopers didn't make choices like Reno did. He shot into the ninja's head. Both men fell to the ground.

Reno turned his attention to Frost. The older Turk was still entangled with the other ninja, but only one was breathing. The other was merely twitching in death. On closer inspection, Reno saw the handle of an ice pick sticking out from the back of the ninja's left ear.

Reno shook his head. _Older Turks,_ he thought, _always having to do things the old fashioned way._ The whole battle had taken place in mere moments. _I thought ninjas would be faster._

He helped Frost to his feet without using his injured arm. Frost's hand looked bad as well.

"I'm not sure I missed this part," said Frost picking up his gun, "Who knows how clean these damn needles are?" Frost began pulling the needles from his hand, while Reno checked on Harris. Their target was still alive, but bleeding badly.

"Reno."

He turned.

"This trooper under the ninja is still alive."

It was true. The guard's helmet must have protected him from the bullet after it had already been slowed down by so much ninja head.

"It's nice to work for a company that makes good products."

"No alarms yet. Where are the sirens?"

"We've stopped doing that. AVALANCHE uses it as an escape signal. Scarlet calculates a fifty percent increase in our likelihood to kill terrorists when they think they have more time."

"And the facilities are all like that?"

"No. It's random so AVALANCHE doesn't get wise to it. "

"Help me," choked Harris.

"Are you going to help us now?"

"Hel…help…"

"Let's get him to the car. We can stabilize him there."

They did so. The ninja's original aim must have been affected by the placement of the three of them. Harris had been luckier than the other guard.

Reno looked back at the still-living guard who was now sitting up. There was something that Reno wanted to say. Something that should've made up for what he almost did. Tseng would disagree. Tseng usually did.

The siren began. An electric wail that became a warble then wailed again. He stood there for a moment thinking about it. Reno remembered times past when he hid from similar alarms.

Shinra maintained special storage rooms for those "worst-case scenarios". He almost laughed when Palmer showed them to him like they were the biggest secret in the world. He'd wanted to tell the fat man how he'd eaten in one room and shat in the other. But some people just didn't have sense of humor when you tore off the veil of their perfect thing.

_Such is life._

He threw a half-empty pack of cigarettes into the living guard's lap. "I don't know what to say."

Frost started up the car. It was just another day. They took their target and drove away.


	4. Scratch The Night

Chapter Four: Scratch The Night

Chapter Four: Scratch the Night

"Ninjas in Midgar," said the president, "I thought we were looking ahead to a brighter future."

"It will be. Just give us the chance to kill them. I have all sorts of new weapons. You're going to love it."

The meeting had been going on for hours. Everyone who spoke offered some contradiction. Palmer had believed in Lentz. And President Shinra's eyes still brightened when Palmer repeated how it made no sense for Wutai to agree to peace and then send ninja assassins into Midgar. _No, not just Midgar, but outside the Shinra General office._ Even Vice President Rufus had been surprised. Tseng just nodded. Scarlett seemed delighted.

Reno remained silent. His report along with Frost's had been delivered. Harris was still alive and in custody. He hadn't spoken, and they wouldn't begin pushing till later. Reno wondered if it really mattered anymore. The presence of ninjas spoke volumes. For Wutai to interfere in the investigation of Reactor 2 sealed their fate. Number 2 had been underperforming, or so they thought. The engineers had worked overtime and promised it would deliver more than any reactor. It didn't, but it wasn't the engineers' fault. Someone had tapped into the lines. Tseng himself had discovered this. Power was being diverted to several places at once. It was theft. A very complicated sort of theft.

AVALACNHE had been considered a suspect for a time. Despite their political assertion that they were against the use of Mako, nefarious operations like theirs would require power and supplies. Some of the power divergence branches lead into the Slums, but others went to some of the finer areas of Midgar. That had been a major hurdle of the meeting. It was hard enough to imagine that Wutai could get ninjas into the city, but that an operation, run by them, could be sending illegal power to certain wealthy citizens was just unsound.

"Tseng," said the president, sweat running down his jowls, "I want you to find out everything there is to know, and even things they don't know about themselves. Find these thieves and trace them back to their source. Once we have a list of targets you will cross them off."

"Of course, Mr. President." Tseng was always very pleasant when Reno saw him dealing with the higher-ups. He supposed it was a practice that a leader had to maintain. "We have a larger staff now. We'll put them to good use."

The "staff" would soon be including Elena. She was still off active duty despite being reaccepted. Her rough treatment had been a shock to Reno, considering that Elena was Turk royalty. Her sister, code-named "Gun", had been of the major players in the outfit until the end of the last "crisis". There were plenty of rumors about why she was gone. People didn't like to talk about it. Elena had been brought in by her sister at a young age, and she did show some talent. Her sister's departure had caused friction. When Elena herself had first vanished Reno thought Tseng had killed her.

Though Reno had come onboard while Verdot, the former leader was still in charge, he'd been placed directly under Tseng's authority. Tseng had brought Gun into the group due to her skills and her father's position as a teacher as the Shinra Academy. With so much changing and elevation of staff constantly, it could get confusing as to who was even in the Turks and who was in charge of whom. Gun had been the kind of operative to want more than Tseng would allow though. It was more and more _his_ group as she came up the ladder. Reno was too green to even consider those things back then. Besides, he'd been distracted, for he had formed a physical relationship with Gun's younger sister Elena. It was improper to have seen her as more than just another black suit, but that's how it was. When he thought Tseng had killed her…

She didn't die though. Elena turned up in Nibelheim. She was living as a drunk and killed two Shinra troopers. This would normally warrant a death sentence. Not that Turks didn't occasionally killer soldiers, but running away and the losing of self-control were not qualities of the Turks. However, Gun had been admired by Scarlett, who in turn became Elena's benefactor. Elena had supposedly been set up with a residence by the R&D Executive. There were few other details. Now she was back with the Turks, but Tseng had taken steps to ensure his continued dominance. The tattoos, the beatings, the psychological torment—all of that was to make it clear to Elena she was in fact just another dark suit.

Reno's part had been painful. He'd believed his relationship with Elena had been secret, but it hadn't been. Tseng found out. Elena probably confessed to it. And then, to show them both that he still controlled everything, Tseng ordered Reno to do what he did. Reno wasn't sure if it had been a mercy. Not for him. Then again, if could've been Waingro. _I got used to the idea of you being gone, Elena. I even learned to spit at your name when it was mentioned. But for you to come back, and for us to "reconnect" like this…_ He remembered wiping her blood off his body when it was over.

Reno stood off to the side. Behind Tseng. He only spoke when spoken to. He knew the rules. The customs. A lot of the routine he'd picked up from Rude, but Tseng was always there with his fingers dancing on invisible strings. _That won't last forever, even the strongest strings decay and break._

XXX

Tifa's feet were so cold. Her place of business, which doubled as her home, was actually kept rather temperate. Despite being in the Slums she had money from her business and also from Zangan. He'd been the one to set her up in Midgar. She'd offered him a place to stay, but the old master had no desire to become sedentary. She knew he maintained a few small huts out of the way of civilization. She'd stayed in them while training. For a time she had considered following his example, but Zangan told her that she needed other people. This was his concern that her rage and hatred would consume her without the possibility of friendship or love. But love was so hard to find. _He_ was so hard to find. She couldn't even find a grave or some record of his death or life. She doubted his existence sometimes, but that couldn't be true.

Her feet were so cold. The bar had heat. It was a place of relative comfort compared to many places in the same neighborhood. It used Mako of course, though Jesse had devised special batteries for some things. Their operations for AVALANCHE relied on planning more than materials. Materia also played an important role. Their most recent bombs were not just plastic explosive or refined gunpowder, but depleted materia. Jesse said that the magic-giving stone could be used in munitions. A large gun was even possible if the material was large and of sufficient quality. Their own was crude, but even it had immense power. The right kind of bomb on a reactor could devastate Midgar. Barrett liked the idea, but there was something to be concerned about. When the collateral damage exceeded the damage done to your enemy, how long would you still be freedom fighters saving the planet and not terrorists bent on killing everyone?

She found a pair of old wool socks and put them on. It was a strange thing being a criminal. If the Turks or whoever busted down the door one day, she would be arrested with all the others and put on trial. Then she would be subsequently executed. Barrett said he'd never be taken alive. But she had doubts. If the Turks were as resourceful as people said, they would find Marlene.

They would yoke Barrett's strength. That was why she prayed their views would gain steam. What sustained Shinra was the complacency of the people under its rule. _If they could only just see…see what? The charred bodies of the people you'll kill? What about the Mako poisoning unleashed on the people? Will they be so fast to see things your way?_

Tifa put on some vanilla tea. As it brewed she thought about _him._ If he was alive, what was he doing right then? Did he even remember her? It was probably foolish to think about it. Zangan wouldn't approve. _Or would he?_

The tea was done. She sipped it, and sat in her favorite chair: a small recliner that Jesse had salvaged and restored from the trash. That was how much of her life was: salvaged. The Slums had an odd way of providing for those strong enough. She wondered what would happen if Shinra did vanish. Would it be the better world that Barrett spoke of? Her teachings from Zangan told her that humanity preyed upon itself. If it wasn't Shinra it would be someone else. _It doesn't have to be_, she told herself, _we can do it right._

She was locked in this inner-debate when Marlene ran into the room screaming with tears in her eyes.

XXX

A call came in from one of their informants in Sector 7. It seemed as though some young men with Wutainese accents had secured an old trailer. The typical fear of outsiders, which Shinra cultivated, would've normally informed them earlier, but these foreigners brought money. And if someone tossed enough Gil around they got special treatment. Reno suspected that someone was getting more Gil than the others. So it was only natural that someone else decided to ruin the whole thing.

His arm hadn't been damaged that badly. Stitches and some nice painkillers could work wonders. Frost was toughing it out too, but Reno was disappointed that the older Turk wouldn't be going directly in with him. Instead, Tseng had grouped Reno with Rude and Waingro for the express purpose of bringing a hammer down on the ninjas. Frost, Ross, Elena, and a number of Shinra troopers were going to be the anvil.

SOLDIER had been mentioned, but was being kept in reserve. Tseng hadn't been exactly sure as to what they would find, so there was no point in getting everyone in Midgar excited.

They had time to get ready, so Reno decided to shave. He wasn't sure why. He did so with a cheap safety razor and hand soap. That was all he could find in the locker he kept at HQ. It was a rough shave. Several knicks later, Reno was washing the blood off his face. He splashed neon blue aftershave on. It burned of course, but afterwards there was a wonderful cool feeling on his face. He loved that. There was no need to think about harmful microbes from the Slums infecting his freshly razored face. Who thought about that anyway?

Afterwards he checked his gear. The cattle prod was fully charged and secured in his coat. His pistol had been cleaned and reloaded. He also secreted a knife in his belt. _You never know_, he thought.

Reno took one last look in the mirror. His red hair was already in disarray as it dried, despite tying it back. He was still young with a lifetime in front of him. _Too bad_ _the world the world is the way it is_. It _could've all been so much better._ He spat a large glob of phlegm on his own reflection, and walked out to join the others. There was a job to do, and he would do it well.

XXX

Tifa's steel toed boot slammed into the man's chest with a satisfying crunch from his sternum. He fell the ground, and wouldn't be getting up soon. She stomped on his right ankle and left knee just to be sure. He would live. The pain would be severe, but that had been something the man risked from the moment he drew the cheap-looking gun on her.

She didn't take the gun. Instead, she removed the bullets. The folding joint that allowed the cylinder to be loaded looked weak enough. Tifa broke it with a strike against a concrete wall of the building. It wasn't that loud of a noise, which was good. The more advantages she could stack on her side the better. The people who had taken Jesse were going to be dangerous. She wished Barrett could be there, but he was plotting their next mission with the others. His gun-arm would be sorely missed.

The lookout she'd taken down had nothing useful on him sadly. He'd been a cheap piece of muscle to guard the criminal's den. Once she got inside, the situation was bound to get much worse. She reconsidered her destruction of the gun. It would've been useful despite how cheap it was. _No,_ she thought, _Zangan wouldn't approve of such_ _dependence. _

She opened a metal box she'd dropped when first approaching the guard. Gingerly, she strapped the metal claws across the tops of her hands. These particular claws were not her best ones. Usually, she preferred one well-made claw. Her freehand, still with an armored glove could be useful for grappling. The claws she brought here were the easiest ones to find. Jesse had actually been sharpening them earlier, so there was a certain symmetry in using them.

This part of the Slums was on the fringe border between Sector 7 and Sector 6. The low-level concrete buildings were more like bunkers, and some suspected that they had been a life time ago. People in the area livid in a hodgepodge of trailer parks, while the rats tended to make their dens in the bunkers. _The perfect place._

Her worry was that she'd be too late to spare Jesse from what the men would do. The fact that Marlene had escaped was a relief, but Tifa feared greatly for the young woman. Slum life was a terrible thing, especially when you were a female. Tifa knew from firsthand experience.

_Please hold on, Jesse. Fight them. Don't just check out of your body and let them have you. Once you let them do that, you'll never be able to shake that feeling. _ He fists tightened. The claws shaking in rage. _I'm coming to get you, Jesse._

XXX

The Slums below the main Shinra platforms represented a complex world apart from the one that still saw the sun. Denizens of the Slums ranged from all over. In the past, wars all over the world had obliterated other major cities. Midgar had once been a modest city that barely survived. The Shinra Corporation changed everything. It had the organization skills and the technical know-how. With Mako as its energized blood, the company could do anything.

It wasn't long before refugees from all over the world poured in. Naturally, the people who were in Midgar first didn't want to depreciate their way of life, but still needed workers or future soldiers. So, housing projects were built that cordoned the new arrivals off from the "better" areas. Eventually, they went one step further and built the upper levels. The lowest levels were abandoned by the wealthy elite and their middle class servants. Those who lived "up above" worked for Shinra or one of its subsidiaries or the city-GOV, which was controlled by Shinra anyway. If a person lived "below" they could do whatever they wanted as long as it didn't contradict Shinra.

Over the years some middle ground had formed. Nothing too substantial though. The city of Midgar was a bottle of conflicting energy. If a bottle is placed atop a hot surface, and heat is slowly applied, the pressures inside the bottle will reach a boiling point. Shinra did everything it could to prevent this, but it did happen over the years. It was the frequent goal of Shinra's enemies, especially Wutai, to apply the heat. One opportunity often opened up several more for others. There was no shortage of people waiting for them.

XXX

Rude kicked in the door. Reno had seen it a dozen times. There was a technique to doing it. Rude told him that it was all in the placement. Once the door was open, Rude stepped aside, and Waingro sprayed the inside of the trailer with bullets. The machine gun given to them by Scarlett didn't have powerful rounds, but it was designed to hold more, and to fire them faster. The rounds also tumbled.

Reno could hear the bullets bouncing all over the inside of the trailer. It wouldn't be pleasant for the ninjas inside. Any who survived would take multiple hits. Tumbling rounds hit in the messiest ways, and were called by soldiers "maiming bullets."

Once the clip was dry, Waingro put the machine gun away. The silence was worse than the rattling screech of the gun. Reno's ears rung. They could've silenced it, but they wanted to scare away any curious scavengers or gang members. Slum gangs were some of the worst.

Reno took out the cattle prod. The baton-like weapon had been tuned-up by Scarlett's people. They were dealing with ninja's after all. Waingo opted for the machete, and Rude still had no weapons. That was his way.

Reno decided to go in first. He had to. Not only as a practical matter (he was the fastest and smallest of their trio), but he had to square his position in front of Rude and Waingro. With Waingro it was about establishing that he had the drive to get dirty. Killers like Waingro only respected such things. With Rude it was more complicated. Reno wanted to be there for his friend. He also knew that Tseng would be asking about his performance. Tseng wanted to cultivate a top-level cadre of people. As the up-and-comer Reno had a lot to prove.

He remembered being on the top platform a few nights before. He'd been staring up at the night sky. It had rained for a few days. Dark clouds covered sky still. But, there had been a distant light. In time, he could see the moon peeking through slashes in the clouds. Reno liked to think that some giant monster had clawed the sky to see the moon beyond the darkness of the clouds. It was a nice moment to draw on before he charged in.

Once in side, the sight that greeted Reno was enough to make him stop cold. In that moment, Reno wished that he was looking at the sky again.


End file.
